Chapter 3

Ryoga Hibiki had been travelling for a while now. He had planned to go 
north to Hokkaido but found himself back in Tokyo for a third time that 
week. 

He drew a deep breath and let out a long, sobering sigh. This had gone 
on ever since he was born. Ryoga, like his mother and father and even 
more ancestors before him, had the world's worst sense of direction. It 
wasn't forgetfulness. He could remember which locations and stores and 
houses meant what to him. Focusing on the where of these places was his 
stumbling block. Streets of cities or layouts of houses, they were no 
different. He couldn't remember directions from moment to the next. It 
was like an episode of Outer Limits where the phrase "Out of sight, out 
of mind" took on a terrible, new meaning. And it did not feel like the 
problem would be correcting itself in the near future.

He looked down for an inspection.

His mustard-yellow shirt was mottled with dirt, torn at the left elbow, 
and the cuffs had frayed. It was also starting to dampen with his 
sweating brought on by the heat. His black jogging pants were in 
slightly better condition. Just dusty from the hundred-some kilometres 
he must have walked. He took special care with his shoes, checking to 
see if there were any holes. Inspecting the garters, he was satisfied 
that he did not have to change them.

His mother had told him once, "Make sure that your pants are too long. 
That way you can grow into them if you can't find the house." Then she 
tied on the garters to keep his feet exposed and to keep him from 
tripping.

He looked at the cuff of one leg. It was no longer tucked underneath 
anymore, but he doubted that he would still grow. Yet he didn't untie 
the garters. He had grown to prefer them and he felt that it was a link 
to his mother, the only link to a family that he barely ever saw.

Pushing those thoughts out of the way, for the moment, he decided to 
rest for a while. Removing the backpack from his shoulders, he 
unsheathed the bamboo umbrella from the straps on top. He then set the 
pack down against the wall of the building he had stopped beside. After 
he sat on the ground, he opened up the umbrella and held it to provide 
shade from the sun.

He had barely settled down before he thought he heard someone, off in 
the distance, calling to him.

"Hey, Ryoga," came the faint call. He looked down the street but saw no 
one he recognised.

"Hey, Ryoga," came the call again. It was louder and he was now able to 
identify that it was coming from the other direction. 

Turning around to confirm his suspicions, he saw Ukyo walking up to him. 
He hung his head and began to curse at himself for his non-existent 
sense of direction.

"Hey, Sugar. What's wrong?"

"I'm back in Tokyo. That's what." He was not in the mood for this. He 
had better things to do.

"So?"

He looked over and saw that her face already showed the realisation of 
her verbal slip but he was a little too angry to let it slide.

"*So?* I can *never* find my way out of this fucking city! It's like I 
have a *double* curse over my head!" He stared at her as if daring her 
to give him a reason to attack. With his breath coming in heaves, some 
part of his brain told him that it was enough but Ryoga remained angry.

"Woah. Calm down," she said. "I'm on your side, remember? Anyway, I'm 
glad I found you. I just got a call from the Tendo dojo." Her voice 
lowered. "There's a problem."

Immediately, all signs of anger vanished. Fear danced through his eyes 
as his jaw clenched. He knew it had to be Akane. She'd been hurt or 
mugged or something awful. "Well, then?" he yelled. "What are you 
waiting for?" He grabbed her by the hand and took off for Akane's house. 
Well, at least where he thought it to be.

"Ryoga," she called out from behind him. "Ryoga, you jackass!"

He wasn't listening, concentrating on avoiding any source of water he 
could. At least then he wouldn't have to worry about changing into a 
small black pig before he made it to Akane's. Finding none, he picked up 
the pace. 

He had to find Akane. He knew she was in danger. His mind was spinning 
with the dozens of possibilities bombarding his imagination.

Just then, he felt a different sensation. Wind was rushing toward him. 
With that little a warning, he was struck in the head by the pizza 
shovel that Ukyo carried around with her.

Stopping, he turned around and faced its wielder. "*What the fuck was 
that for?*" he bellowed.

She was unable to answer at first. She just stood staring at the dent 
his head produced in the six-foot spatula. Replacing the weapon behind 
her back, she steeled herself against his glare. "That," she said, "was 
to get your attention. The dojo is that way." She pointed her thumb over 
her shoulder.

He looked over her at the horizon. His jaw fell open and he collapsed on 
the sidewalk. Repressing a giggle, she brushed the dust that his running 
sprayed her with off her white dress shirt. He collected himself and 
took time to shoulder his backpack while she straightened the last of 
the pleats on her brown slacks.

She hooked her arm around his. "Come on." She said. "Let's try again. 
And don't worry. Even if it is Akane, I'm sure she's not in that much 
danger."

"It's that obvious?" he asked. He blushed noticeably.

As a pig, Ryoga was subjected to the most terrifying experiences. He had 
been attacked with all forms of evil. People and animals hunted him 
whenever he was lost in the forests of Japan. The cities were not much 
better because he would have to dodge cars, avoid children who would 
want to play with him--he learned to despise the term, "tossing the 
pigskin"--and be chased by more animals, usually stray dogs or Cantonese 
chefs. But when he met Akane as a pig, she was kind and loving. She saw 
a poor, defenceless creature that needed the warmth of a happy home. 
>From that day he knew she could never exit his heart.

What he didn't know was the role she'd eventually occupy in it. For 
months, he'd had the wildest crush on her. He would purposefully get 
lost-not that it was a hard thing to do-so he could travel Japan to find 
the most exotic types of souvenirs. But, over time, it somehow changed. 
Unnoticed, unspoken, but eventually, his crush lessened to a point where 
the love he felt was platonic. No, he corrected himself, more like 
familial. Akane became like a sister to him, her romantic love having 
been confided to Ranma, but it was the best thing she could have done.

He had always been in agony that she would reject him one day, either 
finding out that he was a pig--he admitted he'd done some 
less-than-honourable things himself in that form--or being attracted to 
Ranma and forgetting him. When she had shown the latter, he feared the 
worst, but it never came. She hadn't tossed him out on his ass; in fact, 
she was talking with him *more* often. Granted, most of the 
conversations tended to steer towards Ranma, but she was sensitive 
enough to know when to change the subject.

He should have been enraged when Ranma won, but, to his surprise, he 
wasn't. Like an epiphany, he saw that losing to Ranma no longer 
mattered, it was losing Akane he feared most. The bond he and she shared 
was altered--instead of owner-pet, it was now friend-friend--and it was 
strengthened by it.

Akane had given him a gift: the freedom to finally be a true friend to 
her, and the conviction to throw away his crutch of pig-dom.

Her pet pig whom she had called P-chan disappeared from the dojo that 
day, never to return. She was concerned for a while, sure, but she 
consigned him to fate, happy that her little pig had found his place in 
the wild again.

But it had been done; their friendship was no longer tainted by secrets. 
Over the next few months Ryoga believed it to be the single most 
refreshing experience he ever had. If she was happy, he was happy.

But then, *it* happened...

"Ryoga," Ukyo said. "You've crushing my arm."

Ryoga blinked his eyes. He looked at Ukyo; she was grimacing from the 
pain. "Sorry," he said quickly but flatly, releasing the pressure on her 
arm.

"You're thinking about Ranma again, aren't you?" she said, looking 
ahead.

"And why shouldn't I be?" He stopped walking and turned her towards him. 
"He's probably the reason Akane's hurt."

"I told you," she said, her anger rising again, "I don't know exactly 
why we're going over there. The caller just asked me to stop by. And why 
would Ranma hurt Akane at all?"

"Why wouldn't he?" Ryoga asked right back. "What stopped him last time?"

"You don't have to be so cruel, you know," she said.

He shrugged his shoulders and readjusted his backpack.

"That was a mistake, an accident."

He glared at her.

"Come on, she said pushing him a little. "The faster we get there, the 
faster I can get back to my restaurant."


Chapter 4

Shampoo--she had come to accept the corrupted version of her name here 
in  Japan--had just finished serving another large order for lunch. Most 
days the cafe she helped to run with Great-grandmother was half-busy. 
But the warmer temperatures had brought people out of their houses and 
today the tables were filled to capacity.

Placing the serving tray on the pickup counter at the left wall, she 
rested for a moment between orders. The warmer weather was having its 
effect on her as well as her customers. She was wearing a shantung silk 
one-piece, dyed purple to match her hair, no sleeves and short skirted 
and she was still overheated. On top of the purple an intricate pattern 
of flowers and vines had been printed. And the three Japanese kanji that 
she accepted as meaning "Cat Caf�" were embroidered in gold thread along 
the belt. She was becoming concerned. This skirt was one of the nicer 
ones she owned. If it got any hotter, the fabric could get ruined. She 
looked at the customers. If they were feeling the heat as well, they 
showed no signs of it.

Absently plucking the petals of a wilted bellflower from one of the 
tables, another tray was placed beside the one she had brought back.

"Shampoo," Great-grandmother said. "Four more orders of ramen. To table 
seven."

"Why everyone order hot soup on hot day, Great-grandmother?" Shampoo 
asked in the best Japanese she could.

"It is beyond even me, child," she replied in her ancient voice.

As Shampoo was edging her way along the folding screen on the back wall 
to avoid the crowd, she wondered why she couldn't speak more proper 
Japanese. She had been living here long enough, almost two years. But 
still she sounded like a child.

<<Maybe that's why Ranma didn't want to marry me,>> she thought. <<It's 
because I sound like a Chinese bimbo.>>

Though she knew it was also because of Ranma's feelings for Akane, she 
still latched on to this new idea of improving her language skills. Her 
torch for Ranma had all but extinguished--only Great-grandmother kept it 
lit with her insistent huffing--but one more chance to impress him 
couldn't hurt.

She set the bowls down on the table and made her way back to the 
counter. She had to snake through the crowd but she wasn't afraid of 
anyone trying to grab her. After the one patron who did muscle up enough 
courage to reach out and touch her, no one else dared come close. Mostly 
out of the fear of losing more teeth than he did.

When she made it back to the counter, she saw Great-grandmother hang up 
the phone. Her spirits began to lift. If she had to deliver an order it 
meant getting out of the restaurant and getting some exercise. She 
flipped her amethyst-shiny hair over her shoulder and brushed back a few 
short strands that clung to her neck.

"Shampoo," Great-Grandmother started, "could you call Mousse over?"

"Mousse?" Shampoo asked. She turned around.

Mousse was busy bussing tables and serving drinks. With moderate 
success. He had a severe case of nearsightedness that required him to 
wear glasses with lenses so thick, she could barely see the eyes behind 
them.

He had learned to cope despite his visual impairment. He always wore his 
glasses during work hours, though barely at all any other time, and he 
learned to slow down a bit. The effect it had on his productivity as a 
worker was negative but very little. It affected his martial arts skills 
even less. She admired him for that.

But for Mousse, admiration was never enough. Repeatedly, he had tried to 
win her affections. The first time was in China in the Amazon village. 
He gave a short speech as his marriage proposal, then in the Amazon 
tradition they engaged in combat. The fight was over faster than the 
speech was. He tried in vain many times over before she left the village 
after Ranma. The second major attempt was made in Japan after Ranma had 
defeated her. He engaged Ranma in many battles yet lost every one of 
them.

Looking at him right now, watching him as he moved from table to table, 
she knew that he still held a grudge. She knew that the only thing that 
would settle him down would be nothing less than absolute victory over 
Ranma or herself. Over both if necessary. He was determined to come out 
on top. What he didn't realise was that she was just as determined, if 
not more so, to make sure that such a thing never happened.

She loathed to think what would happen if he actually was successful and 
she had to marry him. She was in line to becoming the leader of the 
Amazon tribe. If she were to present him as her husband, she would 
surely lose some, or most, or all of the confidence of the tribe. They 
may declare her unfit to rule if she had such a joke for a spouse. She 
and Mousse would have to face challenge after challenge to keep their 
position. Hundreds of fights would be waged and it would take them only 
one loss to have them deposed. Civil war was possible. She knew such 
thoughts were a little outrageous but then, she knew Joketsu women never 
were ones for subtleties.

"Mousse. Come quick," she called across the room.

He was in the middle of pouring a drink for a customer when he heard the 
call. He snapped his head around so quickly his glasses almost flew off 
his face. They faltered at the last second and landed low on his nose so 
that only the top halves of his green eyes peered over the frames. He 
started to take a step and bumped into one of the tables. He apologised 
quickly and on his second attempt, he ploughed through the crowd earning 
a few blows to the head.

Shampoo giggled softly at looked at Great-grandmother, inviting her to 
join in the joke. She just stood there, perfectly balanced on her staff 
and peered detachedly into the crowd.

Mousse, however, was becoming more agitated with each failed attempt. 
Another try ended with him tripping over his own robe.

Pushing up onto his haunches, he leapt up over the crowd. Out of his 
right sleeve he threw a steel claw attached to an iron chain and 
anchored it to a ceiling rafter. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he 
tugged on the chain and swung across the room over the heads of 
onlookers. At the perigee of his flight, he turned around and extended 
his knees out so that he looked as if he were adopting a formal sitting 
position. Just before he started to slow down, Mousse unhooked the claw 
and flew, still backwards, towards the wall.

She expected him to crash into the wall. Instead, he planted his feet 
against the wall, then arched his back so his hands were aimed at the 
floor. He landed on his fingertips. Pushing his feet off the wall and 
his hands off the floor, he sprung up and added a half twist, like he 
was performing a pole vault. He landed on his feet then dropped to one 
knee and clasped her hands between his own. Even his waist-length black 
hair fell neatly behind his shoulders. The crowd behind him applauded 
with delight.

"What can I do for you my most darling Shampoo?" he asked in the most 
debonair tone his cracked voice would allow.

She just stood there, agape with astonishment. She had never seen him do 
anything so gracefully. She had never seen him do anything graceful 
period.

"A mere flirt with good luck is all," Great-grandmother stated firmly. 
"Get off your knee, boy."

He didn't move, keeping his head down.

Shampoo looked at Great-grandmother then down at him. "Stand up, 
Mousse."

He was on his feet in less than a second.

Great-grandmother dismissed his impertinence in obvious favour of 
expedience. "I just received a call from the Tendo dojo." She paused to 
see if they were paying attention. "They asked me if you two could pay a 
visit."

"Why both of us, Great-grandmother?" Shampoo asked. She didn't want to 
turn down the invitation, but she found it strange that anyone would 
actually invite her over, let alone both of them.

"He didn't elaborate but I sensed some level of urgency in his voice," 
Great-grandmother replied.

"What about restaurant?"

"He said he would order something to make it worth the trip," she said 
as she packed some bowls into the delivery box. She handed it over to 
Shampoo.

"Who is He?" Mousse asked angrily, his eyes squinting a little.

"I believe it was Son-in-law's father," Great-Grandmother shot back.

"Ranma's father?"

"Don't make me repeat myself." Great-Grandmother glared at Mousse.

"We get going now. Okay, Mousse?" Shampoo started tugging on his arm. So 
help her, she would carry him out just to get him away from 
Great-grandmother.

He yielded against her pull momentarily, but complied. She was grateful 
that he didn't try to push things further. She had to get to the dojo to 
see what the enigmatic phone call was about.

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